


Silence Required

by Polska_1999



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, One Shot, Sneaking Around, Written as a birthday gift for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polska_1999/pseuds/Polska_1999
Summary: A short story about an athlete and a special agent.Written by Polska_1999 for Elijah’s and Emma’s birthday — 03 July, 2018





	Silence Required

Attempting to make sense of anything that had led up to this moment in his life was impossible and would only result in a headache — at least, such was how he explained it to himself to prevent his thoughts from wandering to the matter. How he went from a star athlete on the global scene to an outlaw following a helpful but foul-mouthed and rude secret agent around the country was not a pleasant series of events, and thus he wished to not delve into the subject matter at the current moment. 

“Hey, shit for brains! Don’t fall behind!” a sharp voice hissed from not too far away, bringing him out of his musings. He looked around in the darkness until his eyes were able to find the silhouette of the aforementioned agent, the figure difficult to notice in the darkness even when the agent wanted to be noticed. Damn it, he got lost in his thoughts again, which was a dangerous thing when one is attempting to follow a agent through an old house. 

Was the house abandoned? Probably. But in the agent’s work of line, “probably” was not enough, and since the agent could not leave the athlete behind, they had little choice but to bring the athlete along, even if it risked screwing up the entire operation. The athlete found it ridiculous, believing he could hold his own in a fight if needed, but ultimately he hadn’t argued with the agent. It was best to avoid conflict with the person who was already going out of their way to help keep him alive, after all. 

The athlete didn’t answer verbally, giving a small nod and focusing once more on the agent’s silhouette. The shadow against the darkness paused only a moment before whisking itself away, returning to its kingdom, its element. The athlete suppressed a sigh as it began to follow the outline, barely able to discern the ghost-like figure as it prowled the premises of the creaky building, hunting for its prey but stopping on occasion to allow its inexperienced follower to catch up and not get left behind.

They traveled through dusty hallways, the wallpaper scrapped and peeling from the walls and the windows covered by translucent, tattered curtains that reminded the athlete of bedsheet-style ghosts from old horror movies. The air was thick with dust, and the athlete had to keep a cloth over his face to prevent himself from sneezing. He knew that the dust was mostly his own fault, pretty certain that the spy did not kick up a single dust particle at all with his expert and controlled movements. 

The staircase was the worst. The athlete cringed at every small creak the stairs made beneath his feet, felt the judging glare of the agent upon him from where the agent waited at the top of every flight before continuing up further once the athlete reached the top step of a flight. Up one floor, two, three… and then pause. The athlete received no warning, almost slamming right into the agent’s back when the smaller man stopped in his tracks, raising a hand in a signal the athlete originally missed. Then, the agent is gone from the athlete’s line of sight. The athlete waited a few moments in silence and darkness before the agent returned, appearing as if from thin air and motioning for the athlete to follow once more. The agent led the athlete to a small ladder that they both climbed, the agent going first and skipping the third bar from the bottom. The athlete followed suit.

Upon reaching the top, they found themselves in an attic full of boxes covered by molded cloths. They began to traverse their way through, in search of something that the agent had not revealed to the athlete, but it felt as if every movement the athlete made caused something to creak and squeak or slam and bang. At one moment, the athlete accidentally knocked against a box and made a hollow thud echo through the attic faintly, gently disturbing the veil of stilled silence but not breaching it yet. Nevertheless, the agent stopped in his tracks, a barely audible sigh escaping him as he turned to face the athlete. 

“What in the Lord’s name are you— Look, stealth isn’t about awakening all the demons of Hell at Satan’s asscrack hours of dawn; it’s about  _ not  _ awakening even a sleeping baby angel while passing by. In other words, keep quiet, moron. I don't care if that means you not being allowed to move, just— Don't. Make. A. Single. Noise. Got it?” The agent growled quietly through clenched teeth, the agitated tone speaking louder than his almost inaudible voice.

The athlete understood, and nodded… and hit his head against the low ceiling of the attic, the thunk echoing with the noise of a small bomb, completely tearing the veil of silence that had otherwise comfortably blanketed the house. He let out a small hiss of pain, too, immediately checking for damage to his head from that hit. Thankfully, when he pulled his hand through his short hair, it remained free of blood.

The agent facepalmed. 

_ Silently. _


End file.
